Thank Victor
by tarien en' ohta
Summary: Wrote this for Fiction Writing class. Story of a broken kid who comes into contact with the worst of all monsters, the human kind. Loosely inspired, which is totally the ickiest word for this, by the John Wayne Gacy incident in the 1980s.


Kruger 13

Cassidy Kruger

Fiction Writing

Schulz

22 March 2012

Thank Victor

The shoe went sailing above Vic's head as Tom drunkenly raged through the apartment. He threw a picture frame next, this time grazing the boy's ear; he must have been sobering up.

"Get the fuck out! Out now!" He screamed.

Vic ran as fast as he could, stopping only to grab his backpack. Thundering footsteps followed him down the stairs and he barely made it outside into the blinding snow. Tom screamed curses up and down the block as Vic disappeared into the white haze. Ten minutes of flat out speed finally stopped the teenager. Victor thought about his mom, trying to convince himself that she would wonder about him when she got home. She wouldn't leave the bastard, so he had to leave both of them. He finally stopped in front of the diner on the north edge of Portage Park. The dingy windows and neon signs beckoning him in for homemade pie just made him cringe, but he could be safe here. He could breathe.

The smell of the place was disgusting; it made him think of an old litter box the school janitor hid in one of the broom closets for his cat Caesar, emperor of the school and king of stink. Vic took a look around and decided to sit at the little booth in the corner and center himself. He sank down into the lumpy, cushioned seat and pulled his backpack into his lap. Inside he had a normal change of clothes, ten bucks, and the knife Mike had given him at school three weeks ago to protect himself from Tom and the drunken rages he would go into when payday came around. Vic knew Mike would be happy he hadn't used the knife, but he would insist that Vic tell his mom, and then then Mrs. Kowalski would throw a fit about everything and make Vic come live with them. Mike was Vic's only friend, the only real family he'd ever had in the world, ever since the day he forced Vic to ride home with him in the third grade after he saw my bruised arm the week Tom moved in.

"Hon, you gonna order something or just dig around that bag o' yours all night?" The lady now standing over the booth growled out at the very scared Vic. She looked like she'd been around the block several dozen times and hit every parked car on the street.

Vic pulled out the ten bucks and said, "A cup of coffee and a sandwich, please, I don't care what kind of sandwich. Please."

The extra please was added in for a hopeful bit of sympathy out of her. It didn't work. She wandered off into the back and Vic noticed a man at the end of the counter staring at him. He grinned and turned back to his plate when Vic looked at him. The woman returned with his sandwich, a pitiful mash of pimento cheese, ham, and pickles, and coffee, both of which looked as unappetizing as dog shit, but Vic dug in anyways. The sandwich was gone in three bites and the coffee in a single gulp. He hadn't realized it had been nearly a full day since he'd eaten.

"Anything else, hon?" The waitress was standing over him now.

"No, thank you."

"Then get on home, I'm sure you gotta mother out there waiting on ya." The sympathy was delayed, not gone apparently. "Seriously kid, get out of here, I've got regulars coming in who want that booth." She really was annoyed with the kid taking up precious real estate in the diner that paid her bills.

"Sorry miss, I'm waiting on my mom to get home from work. My normal ride from school didn't show up today and I didn't want to walk all the way home by myself." Vic put on his best "pitiful me" look.

"Fine, just don't hang out here too long. You've got 'til 3 o'clock, then you gotta go."

"Thank you, I'm just waiting on her to get home from work, and then I'll go." A lie, but it's the ones who care that will call the cops on you, and then they'll send you back to a home you want to leave.

The man at the end of the counter was staring now. He was starting to scare Vic. The waitress smiled at him and walked away. The man dropped a few wadded up bills on the counter next to his plate and then toddled over to him.

"So, you're running away, huh, kid?"

Vic didn't respond. Strangers were dangerous, even someone like Vic, who relied on the goodwill of people he didn't know, knew that. The man waited for a response, and Vic got more and more afraid. The guy smelled of the same cheap whiskey as Tom, enough to alert Vic to his intent to do him serious harm. Then, he heard the bell over the door jingle and the waitress call out, "Hey John!" The cue to leave; he dropped a ten on the table and bolted for the bathroom. Vic stayed there for twenty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds according to the watch Mike's mom gave him for Christmas three weeks earlier. Mike gave Vic a knife for Christmas his mother gave him a watch. Slowly, he emerged from the stall and crept to the door. Cracking it a tiny bit, the scared teenager scanned the diner, the man was gone. He opened the door fully and made his way back over to the counter. The waitress gave him a quizzical look and sauntered over.

"Where'd you run off too?"

"The man who was here, he tried to grab me."

She stared at him, but didn't react, she wanted more.

"I hid in the bathroom."

"Oh, hon, look don't worry 'bout a thing. I'll send John out to check the parking lot and then I want you to get home okay? No sense being out in the cold like this. You understand me?"

"Yes ma'am."

John was a middle aged, paunchy white man with a mustache and thick glasses, not someone Vic would pick to take on the whiskey fueled man from before, but he looked tough enough. He took a few laps around the parking lot and came back inside.

"All clear. Kid you got a ride home? The snow's picked up pretty good out there. I could give you a lift. The wife wouldn't mind."

Vic considered his options. The waitress had given Vic's change back to him so he could try to hail a cab and get to Mike's house. But that would take a while in this storm. Vic looked at this "John" guy again, he seemed trustworthy enough, plus he said he had a wife, one that was waiting on him at home.

"Thank you so much sir. I live up in Jefferson Park."

"Not even out of my way. I'm headed back towards Norwood Park myself. Come on kid, let's get you home. Night Cindy, I'll be coming back through next week for another job."

Cindy, the waitress, waved goodbye to both of them and John walked Vic out to his car. He climbed into the Oldsmobile Delta 88. It was a nicer car than Vic had ever been in. The upholstery was clean but smelled faintly like something had been left in it over the summer. John drove through the south end of Jefferson Park and continued North. The Polish neighborhood just screamed of Americana, which was ironic considering how proud they were of their heritage. Mike's house was closer to the northwestern edge of the neighborhood. Vic told John the street Mike lived on and settled in to watch the snow fall. John tried to make small talk with the kid and Vic responded as politely as possible, but he just wanted to relax, knowing he was going to be safe. Mike's mom would be there and she would take care of everything.

The car turned at the intersection before Mike's street and Vic pulled his backpack into my lap and prepared to get out of the car. But John passed the turn.

"Um, sir, you missed the turn."

He continued driving.

"Cindy said you ate so fast she thought you hadn't seen food in days, besides, in this neighborhood no one gets off work for another hour, might as well get you some food before I take you home. It wouldn't be Christian of me to just drop you off without feeding you."

Fifteen minutes of weaving in and out of Polish neighborhoods left us parked in front of a pizza place. Tom had taken the "family" out to dinner here once when he'd gotten a pretty decent paycheck when Vic was twelve. It was one of the few times he'd ever taken the time to do something nice for them. Inside the restaurant looked just the same as it did four years ago to Vic, very cheesy Italian décor that reeked of Spaghetti Westerns and non-Italian ancestry in the very Polish owners. John led the way to a table by a window that the hostess pointed them towards.

"So, kid, why are you running away?"

Vic started to deny it.

"Don't lie to me kid, you're scared. I've been in your place before, someone isn't treating you right."

"Yes sir. My stepdad is a drunk and he chased me out of the apartment."

"So, the address you gave me?"

"My best friend's house, his mom will be there and she'll help me."

"It's good you have somewhere to go. I never did. You're brave to get away too."

A waitress appeared and John ordered Cokes for both of them and a small deep dish for Vic. They sat there for the next hour, just chatting while Vic ate his first real meal in two days. When Vic finally finished the pizza, they trudged back out into the snow and John drove him to Mike's house. As Vic climbed out of the car, John handed him a business card and told him to call him should he need any help or a job.

Five months later, spring was descending on the city and Vic found himself sitting quietly in the bedroom he now shared with Mike while his mother and Mrs. Kowalski argued in the presence of the local beat cop in the living room. It was the third time this month that this had happened. Mrs. Kowalski refused to let her less than acceptable counterpart see Vic and he was eternally grateful for that. The cop was there because Mrs. Kowalski had gotten Vic to file a complaint with Children's Services and then arranged for him to be placed with her as a foster child. It was good she worked for the Mayor's office; it meant she was able to call in a favor here and there. Vic's mother screamed at Mrs. Kowalski and he could hear the cop arresting her for custodial interference. A few minutes later he heard the cop car drive away and Mrs. Kowalski knocked on the bedroom door.

"Vic, can I come in?"

He opened the door and then plopped back down on the trundle bed.

"How're you feeling honey?"

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. She'll just spend a night or two in jail; maybe they'll force her into rehab this time. She kicked Tom out last week. But I don't think you should go back until she's clean and has a steady job. You can stay here as long as you want. Okay?"

"Thank you Mrs. K. Really. Thank you."

She kissed the top of his head and hugged him tight. Vic felt loved for the first time since he was a kid, before his mom found heroin. After she left the room, he picked up the now worn business card that John had given him. He made his way to the kitchen and picked up the phone. After three rings, the now familiar voice of John's wife answered.

"Hello."

"Hey Mrs. Garrity its Vic."

"Oh, hey, hold on real quick. I'll just grab him for you."

A few seconds and some rustling later, John picked up the phone.

"Hey kid, what's going on?"

"You said to call you back in a couple days about that job."

"Oh yeah, sorry, been busy around here." Papers rustled around on the other side of the phone. "Let's see, I can use you and Mike next Thursday for some framing work on a house and then the week after on a concrete pour. Does that sound good, school already let out for you right?"

"Yes sir, I'll tell Mike. What time should we show up?"

"8:00 AM sharp. You still living with the Kowalskis?"

"Yes sir, but Mrs. K thinks my mom might be forced into rehab soon. She kicked Tom out of the apartment last week."

"Good, good for her. Okay. See you next week kid."

"Sure see ya next week John."

Mike and Vic woke up just as the sun was rising on Thursday morning. It had been a week since Vic's mom was arrested and the social worker in charge of his case called him the night before to tell him that she was being sent to court ordered rehab in a facility two counties away since she had refused treatment at outpatient facilities and the doctors thought she needed to be more closely monitored. Mrs. Kowalski made them breakfast and then drove them to John's house on her way to work. He met them at the door and they all climbed into his car.

"Morning boys, you excited to get some work in this summer?"

Both boys responded with an enthusiastic, "Yes sir."

"Good."

They drove to the construction site and John gave them some quick lessons in framing while they waited on the rest of the crew to show up. The rest of the day Mike and Vic bonded with the crew and found that the normally jovial John was even more so on the job. He joked, tossed nails at people when they dropped things and was just an all-around cut up. At five they cleaned up and locked the equipment up in a trailer. John drove the boys back to Mike's house and they happily climbed into bed and passed out.

For the next few weeks the two boys worked days for John as he ran various jobs around town. Each day was different as John ran checks with the foremen for each job. On June 21st, exactly six months since John brought Vic home from the diner, Mike went missing. John and Vic organized several searches across six neighborhoods and coordinated with the police. Mrs. Kowalski cried every day. Vic found himself wishing that God would quit making him suffer through repeating tragedies. Four weeks after he went missing, the police showed up at the door. Mrs. Kowalski bravely answered it and held onto the door frame with one hand and Vic with the other for support.

"Ma'am, we have found what appears to be your son's body."

Vic crumbled to the floor and started crying. His best friend, his family was dead. He'd known it for days, but now there was a body. Mrs. Kowalski picked him up and the police took them down to the morgue to identify the body. When the coroner pulled back the sheet, the only thing left of Mike that remained on the body was his face. The rest of him had been flayed and tortured to the point that ribs were visible where there should have been skin. The coroner said that the body had been left at the edge of the woods and that the police had enough evidence to make an arrest. Mike had fought his attacker and pulled fibers, hair, and dirt from wherever he'd been killed. They had a good idea who'd done it. They were going to catch the monster. Mrs. Kowalski just nodded and gripped Vic's hand tighter and tighter. The social worker showed up and made it very clear that this did not mean that Vic had to leave. She had been told by the police that the man responsible had been identified.

"Who was it?" Mrs. Kowalski whispered.

The social worker clammed up and just said that it was better if the police told her. Vic found out first though, the evening news that night showed him the house where his friend had been murdered. He collapsed. It was John's house. The newscaster calmly and with genuine remorse read out the arrest report.

"Tonight, Mr. John Garrity has been arrested for the kidnapping, assault, and murder of the young Michael Kowalski. He is also now the prime suspect in a series of other kidnappings and murders after our sources say trophies were found in his home from several other young men from this community that have gone missing in the last year."

At the trial, the jury carefully watched Vic as he testified to John's behavior in the days leading up to and after Mike disappeared. Mrs. Kowalski watched him too, she had faith in him. She always would. Vic tried to make everyone understand that John had acted almost normally except for the day Mike went missing. The prosecutor wanted more.

"Victor, please tell us what he said."

"He asked me if I was sure Mike was missing. Then he said I should wait, he'd be there in a few minutes and we'd go drive around to see if we could find him. When I got in the car it smelled funny."

"What did it smell like Victor?"

"It smelled like almonds."

"And do you know why it smelled like almonds?"

"The coroner told us that after he tortured my best friend, John gave Mike cyanide so that he'd die quickly."

"Thank you Victor."

As Victor returned to his seat in the gallery with Mrs. Kowalski, John called out to him.

"Yes, thank you Victor."

The judge called for order as the reporters began buzzing and taking notes, the jury looked horrified. Mrs. Kowalski held Vic close and whispered in his ear, "You did good." His mother sat in the row behind him, sober for the first time in ten years. She leaned up close to him and squeezed his shoulder.

The three of them were there every day of the trial as the details of how John had kidnapped and murdered ten teenaged boys over the last six years. The jury was horrified and Mrs. Kowalski cried in the arms of Vic's mother as the pictures of her son John took during his captivity were shown to the jury. Vic cried when John's wife took the stand and said that she hadn't come forward because John had threatened the lives of his two stepdaughters if she went to the police. The girls were only six and eight. She then told the jury that he had taken pictures of other young men that he planned to kidnap. The prosecutor asked her to identify the boys in the pictures.

"The first one is the young man who lives three houses down, Kevin. That one is Victor Newak, he's Michael Kowalski's best friend."

"Thank you Mrs. Garrity."

John glared at her and she skittered away, grabbing her girls and leaving the courtroom in a flurry of reporters. The defense attorney nudged John and he returned to his flat stare. The jury watched me. I leaned in close to my mother.

John was convicted of capital murder. At the sentencing hearing the judge asked him if he had anything to say.

"I do your honor. While I am deeply regretful of my actions, I would just like to say this to Mrs. Kowalski, Mike was a good kid, a very good kid; he was also not the one I wanted. The one I wanted climbed into my car during a January blizzard. He was perfect. You ruined him. Michael was a mere substitute for the one I wanted."

Mrs. Kowalski had to be pulled off of the defense attorney as he reluctantly stood between her and John. The reporters flooded in around the room, multiplying with each camera flash. My mother joined the fray and pulled Mrs. Kowalski from the room. The bailiffs escorted me outside to the steps of the courthouse and then down to where my mother and Mrs. Kowalski were waiting for me.

It was me he wanted.


End file.
